


My Undoing

by sumnawaz



Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumnawaz/pseuds/sumnawaz
Summary: Just two kisses from Hawke weren't enough for Poppy, even if she couldn't stop thinking about them.
Relationships: Penellaphe Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer, Penellaphe Balfour/Hawke Flynn, Poppy Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer, Poppy Balfour/Hawke Flynn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	My Undoing

**Author's Note:**

> Important thing to note: This one shot takes place within From Blood and Ash if the attack that happens on the night of the Rite never happened. I thought it'd be interesting to see a little bit more of the whole "forbidden" aspect of the forbidden love trope, so I wrote this piece as taking place if the Rite night attack by the Descenters didn't happen. Just for funsies! All characters belong to Jennifer L. Armentrout

I couldn’t quite look him in the eye. Not because I didn’t want to—but because every time I tried, I’d feel the heat rush to my cheeks and the flush spread. And I could swear that each time Hawke knew exactly how my traitorous body was reacting every time I worked up the nerve to look at him.

Problem was, whenever I did, my mind would take me back to those stolen minutes underneath the willow, hidden away from the world as he held me, touched me, kissed me in a way a Maiden never should experience. But I did, because of him. Because unlike anyone else I’d ever met, Hawke seemed to understand the wants and needs that resided beneath my skin, desperate to get out and be fulfilled, and he was more than willing to play a part to make sure I got them.

And it had been. . . Everything, hadn’t it?

Sure, I’d had a taste that first night we met at the Red Pearl, had thought about those moments in the bed for weeks after, but the night of the Rite had been different. That night, Hawke knew exactly what I was and he didn’t care, was probably the furthest thing from his mind. His kisses and touch had felt desperate under the thick layer of reverence, like he was as willing to get lost in me as I was in him. And we did, didn’t we? We took complete advantage of the darkness under the willow, the privacy of being far from anyone who would’ve potentially recognized us. It was thrilling in all the right ways, not even a second feeling as though I was doing something wrong even though it  _ should _ have felt that way. But it didn’t. That wasn’t lost on me.

So I walked the halls of Castle Teerman—a castle without its Duke, for Duke Teerman’s body had been found in his office in the Atheneum around the time the Rite was over, impaled by his favorite cane, shocking everyone—fighting the urge to look over my shoulder to the stunningly beautiful guard that walked beside me. If I did, I would probably trip, and that would be embarrassing—and I really didn’t need the image of Hawke’s amused smirk searing itself into my brain all over again.

Still, I preferred to think of that rather than conjure the image of the Duke—of an  _ Ascended _ —dead. Even if the loss of him wasn’t one that I would ever carry. But it was jarring, nonetheless, and left many of the people buzzing with nerves and fright of Descenters, all of which the Duchess would have to calm down. 

When Tawny and I walked into my chambers, Hawke was behind us as he said in that richly smooth voice of his, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

I didn’t dare look at his face as those words curled around me in an all too enticing embrace.

When I heard the door click shut, I let out a breath as I made my way over to the dresser to sit and take off the veil. “Alright, what’s going on with you?” Tawny asked, startling me.

I didn’t look at her as I worked on getting the clasps of the chains. Tawny stood behind me, working on the other clasp. “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

She shot me a look from the small mirror in front of me, her face telling me she didn’t fall for my act for a second. “You’ve been acting strange for the past two days. Almost jittery.” Her dark eyes narrowed as the clasps were unhooked and the veil was off. She worked on folding it neatly. “What happened?” Her eyebrows flicked up. “Does it have to do with Hawke?”

My gaze shot to hers, heart stuttering. “Why would you assume it has something to do with him?” When she shot me another look, one that said there was no use denying it, I let out a long sigh. Truthfully, I was dying to tell Tawny about the night of the Rite, of those stolen moments. She was the only person I  _ could _ talk to about this, since she was the only one who knew some of what happened at the Red Pearl. “Okay,” I let out a breath, shoulders slumping as my voice dropped to a whisper, half afraid that Hawke would be able to hear me despite being on the other side of the door. “Something did happen. On the night of the Rite.”

Tawny’s eyes widened slightly before she hurriedly sat on the nearby settee, her absolute attention on me. “What?” she asked, the excitement already creeping into her tone, as if she had some idea of what I was about to say.

The warmth returned to my cheeks as I toyed with the lace cuffs of my gown. I swore, in that moment, I could feel the heat of Hawke’s lips against mine, the revering touch of his hands on my hips. The blood in my veins hummed at the desire of feeling it again. “After I left the ballroom. . . Hawke and I walked to the garden.” Tawny perked up and I swear she wasn’t quite breathing as she listened. “He said the willow tree was his favorite so we—we went under there and—” I shrugged, feeling helpless and overwhelmed and thrilled all at the same time. “We kissed. A lot. For a while.”

I dared a look at Tawny after my confession, catching her staring at me wide eyed with lips parted, unblinking and maybe still not breathing. The nerves fluttered around in my stomach—why, I wasn’t sure, because I knew Tawny wouldn’t judge me, wouldn’t condemn me for actions expressly forbidden to me and me alone. Still, though, I expected some kind of. . .  _ Loud _ reaction.

She finally blinked, taking a breath. She calmed her expression, her voice even as she said, “I’d like you to know that I’m going against every urge to start screaming right now because then Hawke will just come in and we won’t be able to talk.”

A weak, breathless sort of chuckle escaped me at her words. With a swallow, I said, “I appreciate the lack of screaming.”

Tawny covered her mouth with one hand before bursting out in a whisper-shout, “Oh, my Gods, Poppy!” She laughed gleefully, glancing towards the door, my own gaze following her quickly before our eyes met—wide, like we were sharing a big secret. Which we were, truthfully. Tawny shoved my knee with her hand, grinning coyly as she teased, “And here I thought you went straight back to your rooms when you left the Rite.”

“That was the plan,” I told her, unable to keep in the laugh when she shot me a teasingly disbelieving look. “But Hawke insisted we head out to the gardens so we did and it—it just happened.”

Her eyes were still wide, whispered voice taking a conspiring tone, “Do you think he planned for it?”

“No, I don’t,” I answered immediately, because it was the truth. Hawke had stopped us from going any further, had remarked how he wasn’t being a good guard or friend, but I knew he didn’t regret what had happened. I know I didn’t, either. “Like I said, it just happened.”

The bright glint was apparent in Tawny’s dark eyes. “And I’m sure you’re glad it did,” she hummed with an approving grin. Tawny giggled then, and it made  _ me _ feel better, lighter, now that she knew. Now that I had someone to talk to about this because the gods knew there was no one else. “So?” Tawny scooted forward, her attention on me once more as she widened her eyes. “How was it?”

I pulled my lower lip into my mouth, feeling the heat creep across my face once more as I so easily recalled the sensations of having Hawke so close. The memory of his touch was like a whisper across my skin, there in its presence but just out of reach. Much like Hawke himself was right now, beyond the door of my chambers. “It was. . .” I laughed lightly, feeling like a silly little girl, but not quite caring that I did. “It was something I never thought I’d get to experience. It was something  _ so good _ , Tawny.”

Her grin softened, but the brightness was still there in her eyes. “And how lucky are you that the most handsome guard in the entire kingdom was the one you got to have this experience with?” she giggled. Her words may be an exaggeration, and I only thought that because there was no way Tawny knew what  _ all _ of the guards in the kingdom looked like.

And yet, I knew she wasn’t wrong.

I sat back against the chair, releasing a deep breath as I stared, wide eyed, at my friend. “I can’t believe that happened.”

She raised an eyebrow, offering a slight tilt of her head. “Do you regret it?”

It was thrilling, and slightly terrifying, that I didn’t have to even think of the answer. “No, I don’t.”

*****

I knew that, as my guard, Hawke needed to keep his eyes on me as much as he could. But ever since the Rite, I feel his amber eyed gaze on me far more than I usually did, feeling it settle upon me like a weight that I was hesitant to shrug off. There was more than one instance where I berated myself for possibly overreacting, for thinking too deeply about what had happened. I tried telling myself that I was dwelling on it too much, obsessing over it, that Hawke had probably already forgotten about it.

But, Gods, every time I told myself that last part, it always felt like a lie. 

Three days after the Rite—and the Duke’s death—I left the atrium after having some late tea with Tawny, who had to run some errands for the Duchess. The sun had set and it would be soon time for dinner, I began making my way back to my rooms, Hawke just a step or so behind me. I was looking forward to being in my room, away from Hawke and the nervousness he stirred within me without even trying. Neither of us talked about the night of the Rite, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed about that. But I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up, and it seemed as though he wouldn’t, either.

I suppressed a sigh as we turned the corner, and I came to an abrupt halt, the air catching in my throat, at the sight of the Ascended before me. “Having a nice stroll, Maiden?”

Unease licked down my spine at the silky tone of Lord Mazeen’s voice, feeling every muscle in my body lock up as I looked at him through my veil. I reminded myself, just then, that he couldn’t touch me, couldn’t hurt me. Because now that the Duke was dead, Lord Mazeen’s ability to inflict any pain died with him. Yet, his mere presence dried my throat and tightened my muscles. I did the cursory curtsey. “My Lord.” The words felt bitter in my mouth. “Yes, I was just heading back to my rooms for the night.”

“So early?” Mazeen asked, clicking his tongue. “How disappointing. I haven’t gotten to see you lately.” 

Thank the Gods for that.

His dark eyes were emotionless voids I couldn’t stand looking into, and it was taking every bit of my willpower not to step away from him. Sure, there was a chance I didn’t have to care about insulting him anymore, since he couldn’t run off to the Duke and complain to make sure I received my  _ lessons _ , but insulting Mazeen still felt like a dangerous game to play. He looked  _ hungry _ as he eyed me. My hand twitched at my side, itching to reach for the wolven dagger I always wore. “You looked quite pretty at the Rite,” he mused, as if the idea surprised him. With a tilt of his head and a look in his eyes I didn’t like, he continued, “Tell me, my dear Maiden—you haven’t missed my company?” 

His hand reached for me—to do what, I didn’t know—but before I could even flinch away from his unwelcome touch, a tall, sturdy body stepped in between us, forcing me to take a step back in surprise.

Gods—how in the hell had I forgotten Hawke was right there with us?

My heart hammered as I stared up at him, just barely being able to glimpse at the way his sharp jaw hardened, sharp eyes glaring at the incredulous Ascended before us. “Forgive the interruption, but  _ Penellaphe _ really should be returning to her rooms so she can have dinner,” Hawke said, deep voice strong and firm and not at all sounding apologetic.

He’d. . . He’d stepped in with Mazeen. I wasn’t sure why it surprised me, given that he’d done the same with Priestess Analia—had literally grabbed her wrist before she could slap me. But somehow, with Lord Mazeen, it felt different and the same all at once. This time, Hawke truly looked like he was ready to strike down the lord if he made another inappropriate move or said something to make me uncomfortable. He even said my name, rather than call me the Maiden, which was what he did with the priestess. Right now, Hawke was a tall, hard wall between myself and Mazeen, a hand on his broadsword and a harsh tightness settling in his features that made my heart jump.

I had expected Lord Mazeen to snap back at Hawke. No one had ever interrupted when he cornered me in these halls, not Hannes and not Rylan—Mazeen knew better than trying to get to me when I was with Vikter—and so I didn’t think Hawke doing so would bode well for him.

But instead, the narrow eyed harshness dissipated from the lord’s face, and then his black eyes looked towards me. A sneering smirk lifted his lips, taking an easy step back. “ _ Penellaphe _ , hmm?” he repeated, my name sounding like a hated word as it often did from his mouth. Lord Mazeen brushed past Hawke and then myself, and my guard’s hard gaze never left the lord as he walked away, but not before saying almost threateningly, “Sounds like someone has become a bit  _ too _ familiar with her guard.”

He disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall and I uncurled my hands from the fists they had formed without my knowing. There was still a tightness in my muscles, an angered and embarrassed heat still spread across my skin that I knew wouldn’t recede until I was in the safety of my private chambers. So, without so much as a glance towards Hawke, I moved past him and continued on the way we were headed, my steps quick, desperate to get to my room. I could hear him behind me, a loyal shadow, but at this moment I was grateful for the veil to hide my face. It was useful when I was desperate to keep any mortification at bay. Like right now.

When we reached the old part of the castle, the relief so slowly began to spread, knowing my room was near. But then Hawke spoke up. “Poppy, wait—”

“Not here,” I said without looking at him, because I knew Hawke, and I knew he would want to talk about what happened. And instead of telling him no, I hoped he would give me the courtesy of at least allowing me to get to my room first.

The deep breath of relief that escaped me seemed to echo in the space of my room. Despite knowing that three was little to no chance of me having to deal with a cane to my bare back, the encounter with Lord Mazeen still unnerved me. It was like a part of me wished, as terrible and very un-Maiden-like as it may sound, that the lord had died with the Duke. But Mazeen was still alive, still an unwanted presence, for me at least, in this castle, and I still had to deal with him until I left for the capital for my ascension.

Yet another thing I didn’t want to think about.

Suddenly, the veil felt too constricting, and I didn’t even care that Hawke was in my rooms at the moment, his presence heavy behind me as I neared the dresser. No, I didn’t care as I reached up and took the veil off, taking a breath as I felt wisps of my hair tickle my face as I set the veil down.

“Does he normally speak to you like that?” Hawke’s voice cut through the silence. I looked at the wall ahead of me, hearing the quiet steps of his boots against the floor. “Does he normally try to  _ touch _ you without permission?”

Just one interaction with Lord Mazeen and Hawke had already summarized the nature of my unwanted relationship with the lord. His observation skills were as sharp as Vikter once begrudgingly admitted.

I smoothed a hand over the folded veil. “It sounds like you already know the answers to those questions,” I returned.

When I looked at him, I saw Hawke’s amber eyes flare with indignation, anger bracketing his mouth, and he truly looked seconds away from setting everything on fire. His unbridled anger on my behalf warmed my chest, the butterflies in my stomach returning at such an inappropriate time as my gaze never left his.

Then, something tugged at the back of my mind, and I felt an embarrassed lump forming in my throat as I fully faced him. Before I knew it, I was running my mouth. “You probably think I’m weak for what happened with Mazeen, and with the priestess, too, but—”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Hawke interrupted, nothing but firm honesty in his voice as he took another few steps towards me, slowly eating up the distance between us. And unlike Lord Mazeen, this I welcomed. This intensified the fluttering, the racing pace of my heart. “ _ They’re _ weak, for finding power in the way they’ve treated you.” My stomach dipped at his words, my eyes fixed on his as he now stood a foot or so away from me. Maybe less. I watched as Hawke’s gaze dropped slightly, and a corner of his lips quirked up, hinting at the dimple that indented his cheek. Meeting my gaze once more, he asked, almost amused, “You had to keep yourself from using your dagger on him, didn’t you?”

I pressed my lips together, knowing there was no point in lying to him. Not that I really wanted to. “Maybe,” I admitted, shrugging. “He was lucky you stepped in.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, and had he gotten closer? Suddenly the spaciousness of my laughably bare room felt like nothing, the distance between us seemingly diminishing with every passing minute. Hawke’s voice then dropped, quiet as if we were sharing a secret, honey colored eyes still fixated on mine as he asked, “Would you judge me if I said I wish I hadn’t?”

A laugh rushed to escape from me, but I clamped it down, allowing for a smile to curl at my lips as I peered up at him. He was so close, and unlike the lord, I wanted Hawke to come closer. To wrap me around in that familiar scent of his, to feel the warmth of his body against my own once again. “I wouldn’t,” I told him truthfully, my own voice quieting without me consciously thinking about it.

A dark curl fell across Hawke’s forehead, and I resisted the urge to brush it back, which proved to be difficult, now that I had gotten a feel of what his hair felt like. Soft and luscious under my touch, fingers itching to run through them again.

Something flared in Hawke’s eyes, the muscle of his jaw briefly jumping, before his quiet, slightly roughened voice said, “You should only be touched when _ you _ want to be touched.”

His gaze seemed to sweep over me, and the air got caught in my throat. Dangerous. This was dangerous. For him to be in here, standing so close, without no one in my rooms but the two of us. No one would enter without knocking, I knew, but still. It was risky. It was inappropriate.

But as Hawke towered over me, looking at me in the way I imagined he had been when we were blanketed by the darkness under the willow, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything else but him. And all of the fluttering that was going on within my chest.

He was standing so close, the scent of lush spices tickling my nose, making me fight the urge to bury myself in his chest, in  _ him _ . The thought alone heated my cheeks. “Poppy,” Hawke spoke, and the way my name rolled off his tongue tingled my skin, made my blood hum. Our chests were almost touching and when did that happen? “What are you thinking about?”

He knew. Of course he knew. I couldn’t be embarrassed about it. Not when it was all I could think of for days.

And he wouldn’t do anything. Not until I asked. Not until it was clear to him it was what I wanted.

So I swallowed the nerves and met his gaze once more, heart jumping, feeling the heat of his powerful body seep into me as I whispered, “I want you to kiss me again.”

He let out a breath, like he’d been holding it in until he heard my answer. And Hawke—Gods, he didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t even think twice about cupping my cheeks in his big, callused hands and tilting my head back to meet my lips with his own. A dangerous idea. A risky move. So unbecoming of a Maiden. 

But the warmth of his mouth against my own was too desirable to resist. Hawke’s kiss was slow at first, leisurely moving his lips with mine, the sensation weakening my knees as I grasped the front of his uniform. But then Hawke parted my lips with his, tongue sweeping in to meet mine, and he tilted my head back just a little more to deepen the kiss. The butterflies within my stomach were in a frenzy, my body melting into his as I returned the kiss, savoring the taste and feel of him. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe we were acting absolutely foolish, but it didn’t feel like it was enough. He held me close, as if he, too, knew how risky this was, and was savoring every moment as well. 

I didn’t fault him for it. How could I? This was all I wanted—with him, especially. No matter how wistful of a thought that was.

I swore Hawke shuddered against me as the kiss slowed, dissolving into light, drawn out kisses, like he wanted to keep kissing me but knew he needed to stop. They eventually did, reluctantly on both our parts, and I felt Hawke rest his forehead against mine, my eyes still closed. Our breathing labored, Hawke gently bumped his nose against mine, and all I could focus on was his closeness and the thundering of my heart.

So badly did I want this. But it was just another thing forbidden to me. And still, a taste wasn’t enough.

But I couldn’t  _ want _ . 

I felt Hawke’s thumbs brush my cheeks, just below the scar on the left side of my face. His warm breath fanned against my skin, lips brushing against my own as he whispered roughly, “I think you will be my undoing.”

My heart lurched. Not at the confession itself, but at the reality it brought.

The reality that. . . He was possibly already my own.

  
  



End file.
